Before she and everyone else started calling him C, he went by Miguel. Hearing it the first time surprised everyone. His parents hailed from the Piney Woods and were pure country. How they ended up in barrio was no mystery. A coworker of his dad's took the recent immigrants under his wing and under his roof. The neighborhood was only slightly wealthier than the projects abutting it, but safe. The houses were cinder block set on a concrete slab. It wasn't a big house, but it was a happy house. His mother was a waitress at a truck stop and his dad an auto mechanic. His parents named him Miguel out of respect for the man, Miguel Flores, who befriended him when he and his very pregnant wife first showed up looking for work and a roof over their heads.
His Anglo family lived in a sea of brown. Growing up it was never an issue. He was bilingual as were his two brothers. All their friends were of Mexican heritage. His first trips with other families weren't north but south across the Rio Grande where he stayed in little towns in 2 room houses where 8 people slept in the same room where everyone shared a bed. It was he reflected a great childhood. He considered himself more Mexican than Anglo.
He rarely mixed with Anglos. At track meets he didn't mingle with them, but beat them. He was fast and he had endurance. His nickname was El Conejo, the rabbit.
College was an eye opener. He didn't fit in. Anglo or Mexican he had little in common with most of the students as their families were much more affluent. Over time he found others who felt like he did, out of place, the proverbial square peg in a round hole.
He met Jean in college; she was a freshman. He was in graduate school attending a different university, but stopped by to visit friends and walk the campus. He was in the university cafeteria when he first noticed her. She had her back to him and was walking to the cafeteria line. She wore white sandals, yellow painter pants, and a sleeveless blue shirt. She had he thought the perfect ass. Her cheeks were meaty perched on top of muscular thighs and calves. Each time she shuffled forward her cheeks strained against the yellow material. Out of habit she tightened her buttocks; he swore he could clearly see their shape as the light cotton material left little to the imagination. He wondered if she knew just how thin her pants were. He couldn't help but stare.
An instant later she vanished from his view. Someone at the table said something causing him to look away from the exit. The next time he saw her she was carrying a tray, heading straight towards him. She was he thought beautiful. Her front was every bit as good as her backside. She had deep blue eyes, long straight brown hair parted in the middle, a patrician nose, high cheekbones, a strong yet feminine chin, perfectly proportioned lips. She made eye contact with him and smiled. He smiled back wondering if she was smiling at someone behind him. Her eyes weren't looking over him but at him.
She stopped at his table.
She smiled, "You have this whole table to yourself. Would you mind sharing it with me?"
"Of course not."
She set her tray down. "I'm Jean."
"I'm Miguel."
She looked at him wondering if he was trying to be funny. He certainly didn't look like a Miguel. She decided to see if he was bluffing.
"Mucho gusto Miguel."
"El gusto es mio."
She and he continued to speak Spanish, but after a few minutes she was exhausting her Spanish as it wasn't something she spoke very often. She thought he must be a Spanish major. Finally, she asked him if he was joking or was his name really Miguel.
"Jean, swear to God, it is. My parents named me Miguel after a friend of theirs. He's my padrino."
He intrigued her and he was easy to talk to. She didn't know if he was shy or aloof. He acted interested in her. She finished eating and they chatted until her next class. She left telling him she hoped to see him around.
On her way to class she thought he was way too cute. He probably had a girlfriend. She hoped they would talk again.
He was thinking the same thing. She was he thought a goddess. He still couldn't believe she sat down at his table. The cafeteria he noted had plenty of open tables. Beautiful women didn't normally seek him out.
Later Jean ran into her cousin who was also attending college. She told him about meeting Miguel. It turned out her brother knew Miguel. She advised Jean to avoid him. He was she cautioned a womanizer, very smart, but a med school dropout with a drug habit.
Jean wondered if they were talking about the same man. She decided to find out for herself. At a campus party a few days later she saw him surrounded by several women dressed in tight clothes, barefoot, with long hair, and way too much makeup. They looked to her like sluts. He looked to be having a good time, too good a time.
A short while later she went to get a drink and spotted him sitting on the grass. He was alone. She walked over to him and asked if he would share the shade. She sat down. She was nervous. She did most of the talking trying to find out more about him. He was she found out tipsy, but not sloppy.
The more they talked the more she wanted to know him better. She hoped he asked her out. Several hours passed. He got them drinks. She watched him thinking he was thin. She felt big around him. She wondered if she weighed more than him. She loved his smile and his blue eyes. She thought his blond hair was too long.
She had to leave and attend class. She asked if he had another class to attend. He told her he wasn't in school, just hanging out. She remembered her cousin's warning. She hoped it wasn't true. She told him she hoped she would see him again. He said he would be around, but was sure they would run into each other. She wondered if he was interested in her. It was obvious to her he liked talking to her, but he didn't seem overly eager to pursue her. She sensed he was physically attracted to her. She saw him looking at her. She wondered if he had a girlfriend.
She ran into him again a few days later sitting outside. She told him about a party being thrown by a mutual friend of theirs and wondered if he was coming. He said he didn't know, but the party sounded good. She knew she was sending the right signals. He had to be an idiot to not see she liked him so why wasn't he more enthusiastic.
Friday night came and Miguel showed up at the party with another woman. She was the reason he wasn't pursuing her. She watched them and it was soon obvious they weren't dating. She made up an excuse to approach him. She asked who the woman was. He told her she was his ride. He explained how he had ended up in a friend's apartment, fell asleep, and woke up to discover his friends had left. He didn't have his car with him. The phone rang; it was the woman he showed up with. She was bored. He told her about the party. She said she would give him a ride. End of story.
Jean and he stayed inseparable for the rest of the party. His friend said she was going home. Jean volunteered to drive Miguel home. He asked if she was sure as he lived out of the way. She told him she was sure. She felt safe as she wouldn't be alone with him. She had gone to the party with her girlfriends.
They left the party as it wound down. He sat up front between she and her cousin. She commented she was hungry and wondered if he was too. He said he was. They stopped at a diner and ate. She could tell all her friends thought he was both nice and cute. She found herself feeling jealous when several of them flirted with him. She considered him hers.
After they ate she decided to get rid of her friends and dropped them off first. She knew her parents would be mad if they found out, but she wanted to be alone with Miguel.
It was late and while she was a college student she still lived at home and under her parents' rules. She had a curfew. She suspected Miguel didn't. She wondered if he would make fun of her. In the car there was space between them. She thought about asking him to sit closer, but didn't want to sound needy or too aggressive.
She looked at him and wished she had more time. She wanted to have a makeout session with him. She jumped for joy inside when he reached out and took her hand in his. They didn't hold hands, but gripped them.
"Sit closer."
He moved over.
"That's better."
He told her when to turn, but she wasn't really observing the landmarks or the telltale signs he lived across the tracks, in a world very different from hers.
He lived on a main street, but it was empty. She parked along the street.
She killed the lights and turned off the engine. They sat their holding hands, both hesitant to make the first move. She said she needed to be going and told him about her curfew. She wondered if he would make fun of her, but he didn't. He only said he didn't want her to be in trouble because of him.
She opened the door and holding his hand exited the car literally towing him with her. An outsider seeing them would have thought it strange to see the woman escorting the man to his door, but that's what she did.
They were standing holding hands looking at each other when he asked, "Jean, I had a good time."
